


Superman and the Monstrous Bat-Man of Gotham City

by EloiseReed



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: 1940s, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Golden Age (Comics), Gotham City - Freeform, Grumpy Clark Kent, M/M, Smooth Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloiseReed/pseuds/EloiseReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A first time fic set in the Golden Age! Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter for the Daily Planet, is sent on assignment to Gotham City. He is less than impressed with the fluff pieces he has been given to cover: investigate the alleged sightings of the mysterious Bat-Man, and interview Gotham billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superman and the Monstrous Bat-Man of Gotham City

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago, but I never posted it anywhere myself. It was included in an anthology of Superman/Batman fic. My challenge to myself was to write a story set in the golden age of comics, and try to keep the characters, especially Clark Kent/Superman, using that tone. It is loosely based on a very early Batman story (the Mad Monk, whose first appearance was in Detective Comics #31 in 1939). I am pretty pleased with how this one turned out, so I cleaned it up a bit and decided to post it here.

Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper, was unimpressed with Gotham City the moment he stepped off the bus. If he was really being honest, and he usually was, he was unimpressed with this entire assignment.

_I should be covering the rising tension around the Suez Canal, not chasing down ghost stories and fluff society pieces in Gotham City_ , he thought bitterly. _With my abilities, I could be in Egypt and back with the story before lunch._

Of course he couldn’t tell this to his editor, Perry White. Not without revealing that, under his seemingly meek and timid disguise, Clark Kent was really the mighty Superman!

_If White ever learned that truth, why he would swallow his pipe!_ Clark thought with some amusement.

Thus the editor of The Daily Planet had sent Kent to Gotham City, while a supposedly more rugged reporter was put on a plane to Egypt. Clark had been given two assignments, neither of them, in Clark’s opinion, being of any great importance. He was to investigate the growing number of reports of a mysterious vigilante figure who stalked Gotham’s streets at night, allegedly beating up criminals. The man was being called the Bat-Man, on account of his supposed appearance. If he did exist, it certainly wouldn’t take Clark long to find him. Hopefully he could be back in Metropolis tomorrow evening.

His other assignment was of even less interest to Clark. He had been given the tedious task of interviewing Gotham millionaire, and renown playboy, Bruce Wayne for the society page. Clark was not looking forward to meeting the man who would no doubt prove to be dim-witted and arrogant.

_On the plus side_ , Clark thought as he tried to ignore the faint stench coming off the harbour, _At least this trip gets me away from that pesky Lois Lane for a few days._

He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about Lois that bothered him. She was attractive enough, for a career girl. Clark even liked some of her less feminine qualities, like her courage and determination. It reminded him of his boyhood sweetheart, Lana Lang. She talked a blue streak, and she was certainly too nosey for her own good, but Clark overlooked it a lot of the time because he admired and respected her as a reporter. He knew that she was sweet on him, or Superman at least, but for whatever reason he just couldn’t return the feelings. He told himself it was for her own safety, but he knew that was only partially true.

Clark took a taxi from the bus station to his hotel. There was a telegram waiting for him.

“It’s from Bruce Wayne!” the concierge exclaimed, clearly impressed.

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” Clark said, “I’m a reporter with the Daily Planet and I am in town to interview Mr Wayne.”

“I see, Mr Kent. I hope you enjoy your stay in Gotham City, and please let me know if you need anything.”

“Well actually,” Clark said, “I’m also in town on another assignment. Tell me, have you heard anything about this Bat-Man character?”

The concierge paled. “Oh, well,” he said nervously, “I wouldn’t know…I’ve heard things, but they can’t be true. A demon stalking the streets of Gotham at night! Just the ramblings of crazy drunks, I suspect.”

“So you’ve not seen the Bat-Man yourself?”

“No sir. They say he’s ten feet tall, and all black. I read in the Gazette that he has glowing eyes, and wings and that he can even fly. But, like I said, I hope - I mean, I’m sure it’s all just stories.”

_I’m sure too_. Clark thought. “Well, thank you for your time.”

Clark read the telegram on the way to his room.

_Mr Clark Kent._

_Welcome to Gotham. Hope your journey was pleasant. Regret that something has come up this evening. Will have to reschedule meeting until tomorrow. Meet me at Gotham Club on patio for brunch at 11 a.m._

_Bruce Wayne_

_Why of all the lousy…_ Clark thought angrily. _I travel all the way here from Metropolis and this buffoon can’t even make the trip to mid-town for an interview I scheduled over a week ago!_

Clark Kent lead a busy enough life as it was, but Superman certainly didn’t appreciate having his time wasted.

Clark crumpled the telegram and tossed it away, along with his hopes of returning to Metropolis tomorrow morning. He supposed he may as well use his unexpected free time to work on the other story. The Bat-Man was big news in Gotham. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find someone who could give Clark some insight.

***

Three hours and five coffee shops later, Clark had an impressive list of first-hand accounts of the Bat-Man, ranging from utterly ridiculous to absolutely insane. If all recorded accounts were true, then the Bat-Man had wings, long claws, fangs, glowing eyes, and could adjust his height between two and thirty feet. He also had the ability to fly, turn invisible, and could not be hurt or killed. Four of the locals interviewed claimed to be the Bat-Man themselves, and one offered to take Clark to him for twenty dollars. The only fact that all interviewees agreed on was that the Bat-Man was in Gotham to punish the wicked. Based on what he knew about Gotham City, Clark wasn’t surprised that this made nearly everyone in the city very nervous.

Clark took a moment in his hotel room to read over his notes. They were more or less useless, unless he were writing for a tabloid. It was all a bunch of sensationalist fiction. Even so, there was enough of it to warrant an investigation, he supposed. Fortunately he had packed clothes for that, too.

In less than a second Clark’s rumpled suit had been traded for bright blue and red tights. It was dark out now, and if the stories were at all true, this Bat figure would be prowling about now. It wouldn’t take Superman long to find him.

It was actually quite some time before Superman spotted the dark figure darting across the snowy rooftops in the Eastern part of town. He had almost given up, convinced that the alleged Bat-Man was nothing more than urban myth. There was no question that the figure swooping over the streets of Gotham was at least attempting to look like a bat.

Superman got close to the dark figure.

“You must be the alleged Bat-Man.” He called out. The figure turned his head and looked up at him. Superman didn’t have a chance to notice any features because his ears were suddenly attacked by a painfully loud ultrasonic screech. He covered his ears and yelled out in agony as he flew away from the sound. When it finally stopped, the Bat-Man was gone.

Ears ringing, Superman decided to call it a night. He’d meet up with this fellow again soon enough. For now it was enough that he’d confirmed his existence. For now he had to focus on his meeting with Bruce Wayne.

***

Bruce Wayne had scheduled the meeting for 11am, but apparently he had actually meant 11:30. Clark sat for over thirty irritating minutes waiting for the billionaire. When he finally arrived, he offered little in the way of explanation or apology.

“Mr Kent, I presume. Pleasure to meet you. Bruce Wayne." the man the media dubbed the Prince of Gotham extended his hand to Clark.

“Good to meet you, Mr Wayne,” Clark said, struggling to restrain from burning two holes in Bruce Wayne’s tailored suit.

“Hope you don’t mind a late start to the day,” Wayne said as he sat down, “I’m not much for mornings. I keep late hours.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You can’t believe everything you hear about me, Mr Kent.”

“Oh?”

“I really can’t believe how often my name appears in the papers. I mean, isn’t there anything more interesting to report on?”

_There certainly is._

Clark cleared his throat.

“Well, Mr Wayne, the people would like to hear your side of the stories. They’d like to learn more about the man.”

Wayne flashed a billionaire smile.

“Well who am I to deny the people what they want? Ask away!”

“Fine,” Clark picked up the notebook that he had opened over forty minutes ago, “You, er, are known for your fondness of world travel. Tell me, Mr Wayne, where your favourite vacation spots are.”

Bruce Wayne rattled off a long and uninteresting list of exotic locations as Clark jotted them down. The worst part was that this was probably the most interesting question on the list. As Wayne spoke, Clark watched him. It was odd to see the famously handsome face, recently featured on the cover of _Life Magazine_ , sitting across from him now. Everything about him suggested the opulent lifestyle that he enjoyed, from the shiny hair to the manicured hands. It was his eyes that caught Clark’s attention the most, however. Steel blue and glistening, they didn’t match the dullard personality that Wayne exuded. Instead they suggested a great deal of intelligence lying beneath the pampered surface.

Clark went through his list of utterly unimportant questions for Mr Wayne, who responded to each one in great length with the wit and charm for which he was famous. When their breakfast arrived, Clark decided to change his line of questioning.

“Can I ask you something off the record, Mr Wayne?”

“Make it ‘Bruce’ and you can ask me anything,” he said with a quick smile.

“Alright then, er, Bruce,” Clark leaned in a bit. Bruce did the same with obvious curiosity, “Do you have any opinion on this supposed Bat-Man character?”

Bruce laughed immediately. “Colour me disappointed, Kent. I was expecting a far more lurid question. What do you want me to say about this Bat-Man? Whether I think he’s real?”

“Well, yes. For a start.”

“You’re the reporter, Kent, but it seems to me that with this many people claiming to be eyewitnesses of his existence, there’s a good chance that he’s real. He may not…what is it they’re saying?…breathe fire or tear out the hearts of his enemies, but I believe that there is some mysterious figure in Gotham scaring criminals.”

“A man in a bat suit?”

“Sure, why not? If Metropolis has a man who can fly, why can’t Gotham have a hero?”

Clark raised an eyebrow.

“Hero?”

“You don’t seem convinced, Mr Kent.”

“It’s my job to be sceptical.”

“Fair enough. Don’t believe anything until you see it yourself, and sometimes not even then. I can appreciate that.”

Bruce Wayne was an attractive man. Certainly he had the care-free, cocky manner of a man who never had to work a day in his life, but he was undeniably good-looking. And Clark was finding himself enjoying talking with him more than he ever expected. But he also enjoyed looking at him, and that was perhaps more surprising and unsettling.

“So tell me, Mr Kent,” Bruce said suddenly, “How did a farm boy from Smallville, Kansas end up a big city reporter in Metropolis?”

Clark was caught off-guard. “You’ve done some research.”

“I like to know who I’m going to be eating breakfast with.”

Clark smiled despite himself. “There’s not much to tell, Mr Wayne. I wanted to see the world and tell people what I saw. I like what I do.”

“You mean, breaking riveting stories on the favourite vacation destinations of billionaires?”

Clark laughed. “I’d be lying if I said this was why I got into the business.”

“I should certainly hope so.”

A silence hung in the air between them. It was brief, but long enough for Clark to oddly notice the attractiveness of Wayne’s throat, and the way his neck curved down to meet a perfectly white, crisp shirt collar. If Wayne hadn’t chosen that moment to speak again,, Clark may have involuntarily switched to x-ray vision to follow the skin below the collar.

“Mr Kent, I’m afraid I have other business to conduct this afternoon, but I feel that a story this important needs far more research. So I propose that we continue this interview over dinner.”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes. Dinner. If it’s not too much trouble, I could certainly…”

“Perfect,” Wayne said as he deftly snatched the pencil and pad out of Clark’s hand. He scribbled an address onto a page and handed it back. “Meet me there. Six o’clock. Sorry if that’s too early, but I like to get dinner out of the way. My evenings tend to be busy.”

“No, six is fine.”

“Wonderful,” Wayne stood, “Now don’t worry about the breakfast bill, of course, it’s charged to my account. I’ll see you later, Kent.”

Clark moved to stand up, but Wayne had already moved swiftly away from the table without a look back. It was just as well because, to Clark’s horror, the reporter had become somewhat noticeably aroused in the past minute or so. It took a lot to surprise Superman, but this unexpected reaction had certainly accomplished just that.

_If it weren’t for the interview, it would have sounded like Bruce Wayne had just asked me out on a date.”_ Clark thought. But, of course, there _was_ the interview. Besides, there was also the obvious reason why this line of thinking was insane: they were both men. Sure, there were always tabloid rumours about Bruce Wayne’s tendency to be a bit…swishy. But those were just lurid headlines used to sell trashy papers to idiots. And even if Wayne were…that way…certainly Clark was interested in women.

As Clark exited the restaurant, he struggled to think of even one woman he had ever been interested in sexually. He came up with nothing, but reminded himself that he was, in fact, an alien and there could be a number of reasons why he hadn’t felt an attraction to a woman yet. Or to anyone. Until he met Bruce Wayne.

Clark was thankful for the distraction when he saw the afternoon paper at the newsstand. The giant headline was hard to miss.

**THE BAT-MAN STRIKES!**

**Young Woman Found Dead, Drained of Blood**

Clark quickly paid for the paper and read the article at super speed. A woman’s body had been found with two puncture marks on her neck. Despite the wounds being very small, her body was completely drained of blood. Despite the headline, the article did not indicate any specific evidence that linked the Bat-Man to the crime. The monstrous nature of the crime, however, did seem to match the mysterious night stalker’s costume. The article implied that it wasn’t a costume at all, and that the Bat-Man was indeed a supernatural beast, not unlike Dracula or a werewolf. Clark had his doubts about that, but he did believe that the man could be a psychopath, and had perhaps devised a horrific way of killing innocent people.

It looked like dinner would have to be cancelled. Superman had a bat to catch.

***

When Clark returned to the hotel, he was surprised to find another telegram from Bruce.

_Mr Kent,_

_Regrettably I must cancel our dinner plans for this evening. I’ll contact you about rescheduling tomorrow._

_Bruce Wayne_

The telegram gave no excuse for the sudden cancellation, but Clark wasn’t bothered. It was actually a lucky coincidence, as it meant he wouldn’t have to come up with a reason to cancel dinner himself. During his walk back to the hotel he heard the people of Gotham everywhere talking about the chilling discovery of the woman’s body. People were scared, and all of them believed it to be the work of the Bat-Man. Clark resolved to put their fears to rest that evening. He would find the Bat-Man, and he would learn if he was the monster the people of Gotham believed, or if he was the misunderstood hero that Bruce Wayne spoke of.

The hardest part now was waiting until it got dark.

***

For the second night in a row, a red and blue blur streaked over Gotham. The streets were quieter than usual. People were scared.

The benefit for Superman was that it made the Bat-Man far easier to find compared to last time.

Learning from his mistakes, Superman didn’t give him any warning. As soon as he saw him crouched on a rooftop, he swooped down and grabbed him. They were high in the air before the cloaked figure knew what happened.

“Erg, let go of me!” He shouted, struggling uselessly in Superman’s arms.

“I’m afraid not. I tried to do this the civilized way last night, but you didn’t give me a chance. I need to talk to you.”

“I don‘t have time for this.”

“Oh? Places to go, blood to drink?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one dressed like a bat.”

“No. You’re dressed like a circus performer.”

“Look, if I take us down to the ground, do you promise to stay put and talk to me?”

“No.”

Superman sighed. “Most of Gotham would sleep a lot easier if I dropped you right now, but I believe everyone is innocent until proven guilty. And I don’t have any proof that you are a killer…yet.”

The Bat-Man was silent.

“I can keep us here all night, but I’d really rather be trying to find out who murdered that girl,” Superman said.

The man he was holding sighed. “Take me to the roof of Wayne Tower. It’s the tallest building in the city. We won’t be spotted.”

“Alright, but if you try anything, I’m taking you into custody.”

“Of course you are.”

Standing across from each other on the roof of Wayne Tower, Superman had a chance to examine the man’s costume. Up close you could see that this was clearly just a man in a suit. There was nothing monstrous about him, other than his gruff manner. He wore grey thermals with a black bat logo sewn to the front of the sweater. Black shorts were worn over the pants, and he seemed to have black combat boots on. The pointy-eared cowl appeared to be black leather, as did his short gloves. The cape was scalloped and blew in the wind around the man. Clearly he didn’t like being examined because he grabbed his cape and pulled it tightly around himself.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Well first of all I want to know why you felt the need to blast my eardrums last night with that supersonic alarm.”

“I wasn’t ready for you.”

“Ready for me?”

“If figured you would be in Gotham eventually, but I wasn’t fully prepared. If you haven’t noticed already, I took some time today to line my mask with lead. Just in case you got curious.”

Superman grimaced. He hadn’t checked yet, but he had certainly been planning on it.

“That only makes me think you’ve got something to hide,” Superman pointed out irritably. Lining the mask with lead…it was infuriatingly clever.

“I do have something to hide. My identity. I’m sure that’s something even you can appreciate.”

“I’ll get back to that one. Here’s a more pressing question: why are you wearing a costume and terrorizing the people of Gotham?”

“I am not _terrorizing_ anyone who doesn’t deserve it. And I wear the costume because it makes it easier to scare the right people.”

“Criminals, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“And criminals find a man in a bat suit frightening?”

“You’d be surprised. They are remarkably superstitious.”

“Hmmm…yes. And cowardly,” Superman considered this, “But you are frightening more than the criminals. The whole city is afraid to leave their houses at night.”

“They should be. But not because of me,” the Bat-Man said darkly, “Is this interview nearly over? I have a murderer to catch.”

“I’m still not convinced that you’re not the killer.”

“Then why don’t you bring me in?”

“Because a man whose opinion I value told me just today that he doesn’t believe you’re a monster. He actually used the word ’hero’ to describe you.”

Superman saw something change slightly in the Bat-Man’s stony expression.

“Did he?” he asked quietly, almost smirking.

“But there’s a chance that he’s as crazy as you are, so-”

“You certainly are quick to accuse others of insanity,” the man snapped, “Considering.” He gestured toward Superman’s outfit.

“Can I at least call you something other than the Bat-Man? It sounds ridiculous.”

“You can call me whatever you want, _Superman_.”

Clark cleared his throat to cover his uneasiness. No one had ever mocked him in this way before. He suddenly felt uncharacteristically self-conscious in his suit.

“We’ll work together,” Superman decided suddenly, “We’ll find the killer together.”

“No.”

“Yes, it makes sense. Then I will know you are innocent.”

“Has it occurred to you that I don’t care what you think?”

“Has it occurred to you that can fly you to the top of Mount Everest and leave you there?”

The Bat-Man folded his arms. “Fine. But only because we’re wasting time by arguing. Follow me, and don’t do anything or say anything unless I tell you.”

Superman raised an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”

“Church.”

“Pardon?”

“Just follow me.”

Superman frowned and tried to maintain some of his usual position of authority. “Alright. But don’t think I’m done asking you questions.”

“Ever the reporter,” The Bat-Man muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

***

If Clark Kent, as a reporter, had to describe the gothic cathedral in which he now stood, he would use the word “creepy.”

Dimly lit by candles and completely empty, Clark would have been uneasy had he been anyone but Superman.

“This way,” said the Bat-Man, “We’re going to the basement.”

Or, perhaps, anyone but Superman or this curious Bat-Man character.

Superman followed the dark figure down an even darker flight of stairs. They twisted down into total blackness. The Bat-Man had grabbed a torch off the wall to provide some light. Superman could see perfectly well in the darkness. Well enough to see the rows of coffins.

“Look inside them,” the Bat-Man said suddenly, his voice bouncing off the damp, stone walls.

“What?”

“Use that trick vision of yours and tell me if any are empty.”

Superman wasn’t scared of anything, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed looking at dead bodies.

“Er…”

“For God‘s sake,” the Bat-Man said irritably, “these coffins are all hundreds of years old. There is nothing but dust inside any of these."

“I’m looking!” Superman lied, “Calm down.” Then he really did switch to x-ray vision and quickly scanned the coffins.

“They…they’re all empty!” Superman exclaimed.

“I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what? What exactly is going on? You can at least tell me why we’re here!”

“It appears that the inhabitants of these coffins have left. I believe they are now prowling the streets of Gotham in search of victims. Particularly young women.”

“Victims? Surely you can’t believe that-”

“Vampires.”

“But that’s impossible!”

“I’m surprised you still find anything impossible. I know I don’t, _alien._ ”

Superman took a moment to process this. Certainly the attacks seemed…vampireish…but that could be on purpose. Just some sick individual. Maybe someone who wears a bat costume for fun.

“Say it is vampires, and I’m not saying it is,” Superman said, “What do we do now?”

“One of us waits for them to come home, and one of us goes out to find them.”

“No way. I’m not letting you get away that easily. You might think I’m stupid, leading me to a dark basement and telling me a ridiculous story about vampires, but I’m not-”

“You’re not stupid. It is vampires. I’m leaving. You stay here,” the Bat-Man turned and moved toward the stairs.

“No. I mean…wait. It makes more sense that I go and find them. I can cover more ground, and I’ll have a better chance of taking them out. Based on the number of coffins there are a dozen of them!”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“What do I do if they come back?”

“Kill them.”

“I don’t kill anyone.”

“They’re already dead.”

Superman considered this.

“How do I do it?”

“You can shoot fire out of your eyes, right?”

“Yes.”

“That should do it.”

Superman wanted to ask more questions but the Bat-Man had moved quickly up the staircase, leaving him alone with the coffins. Clark could tell that this wouldn’t be the best night of his life.

***

Superman wasn’t sure how many hours he sat on the floor in the dark basement. He did know that there was absolutely no sign of any vampires, or of the Bat-Man.

_This is ridiculous_ , he thought, _I’m Superman. This is a complete waste of my time. How did I let that psychopath talk me into this? Obviously this was just a ploy to keep me from apprehending him. How could I have been so stupid?_

Angrily he stood up and ascended the staircase. He would find the Bat-Man and show him that Superman wasn’t some fool.

To Superman’s surprise, daylight streamed through the narrow windows of the church upstairs. He certainly hadn’t expected it to be morning already. This would make it impossible to find the Bat-Man.

He quickly changed into his civilian clothes, which he always kept, super compressed, in a secret pocket of his cape. He exited the church, finding both sunshine and bitter cold outside. Frustrated with himself, he decided to return to his hotel room and once again wait until evening. He could at least get a good start on both articles.

As he walked his ears picked up pieces of conversations scattered across the city. All were in excited voices, and all were discussing the same thing.

“She says the Bat-Man saved her life!”

“Kidnapped by some sort of cult!”

“The Bat-Man fought them all off and brought her to the hospital!”

“The police found no traces of the men. The whole building was burned down.”

“He’s a hero!”

Clark noticed small groups of people crowded around the morning edition of the Gotham Gazette. He bought a copy at the first newsstand he came to. The front page told of last night’s heroic rescue of the daughter of a prominent Gotham City businessman. She claimed to have been abducted by a group of men and women in scarlet robes. She fainted and woke up in an abandoned warehouse. They were going to do “unspeakable things” to her when the Bat-Man showed up. According to her story, he took them all on, alone. She watched the whole fight, but couldn’t remember when the fire started. The Bat-Man got her to safety before the warehouse burned to the ground, taking all of the bodies inside with it. She says at that point she lost consciousness again, waking up safely in the hospital. She owes her life to the Bat-Man, whom she described as “a man, not a monster. He is my hero.”

Clark was stunned. The Bat-Man really had gone out and found these…murderers. Clark still wasn’t going to call them vampires. Today, instead of fearing him, or denying his existence, the people of Gotham were celebrating the Bat-Man as a hero. This would certainly change the tone of his article.

Clark spent the day talking to different people in the city about the previous night’s events. Everywhere it was the same: the Bat-Man was real, and he was the saviour of Gotham. He was Gotham’s Superman, according to most. Clark wasn’t ready to agree with that yet.

Clark was so absorbed with Bat-Man that he nearly forgot about Bruce Wayne. He was writing up the article on the Bat-Man when the telephone in his hotel room rang.

“Mr Kent? It’s Bruce. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Br-Mr Wayne! I- no! This is a fine time.” Clark wished he could get his voice to match the smoothness of Wayne’s.

“Good,” Bruce said, politely ignoring how idiotic Clark sounded, “I was hoping we could have dinner this evening. I suddenly have some free time.”

“Tonight? Great! I mean…certainly. That would work for me.”

“Tell me, do you still have that address I wrote down for you?”

“Yes, it’s right here in my notebook.”

“Excellent. Could you meet me in half an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it,” Bruce said with a hint of…something…before hanging up.

***

Clark was expecting the restaurant to be one of the many posh establishments that men like Bruce Wayne made frequent appearances at. He checked the address three times before he entered the small diner.

It took him a moment, but he eventually located Bruce in a booth in the far corner. He had been thrown off because Wayne was wearing glasses. Clark joined him in the booth.

"Good evening, Mr Kent. I apologize for the disguise. It is sometimes difficult for me to enjoy privacy in this city. I knew that you would be too intelligent to be fooled by a simple pair of glasses.” He paused, throwing Clark an odd glance, “Of course, you would be surprised how effective this trick can be. It’s interesting that something as minimal as a pair of transparent glasses can completely change a man’s appearance.”

Clark shifted in his seat a bit. This was a peculiar conversation. It didn’t seem at all coincidental.

“So, how did you spend your day in Gotham?” Wayne asked, perhaps noticing Clark’s uneasiness.

“I, uh, I was talking to people about the Bat-Man, for my article.”

Wayne smiled, “Were you? Interesting events last night.”

“It seems people are agreeing with you now: the Bat-Man is a hero.”

“What are your thoughts, Mr Kent? You don’t seem convinced.”

“Well, er, like I said before, I’m a reporter. It’s my job to be sceptical until I see proof.”

Bruce’s smile was a little too knowing for Clark’s liking. “And you haven’t seen proof yet.”

“Of course I haven’t. It’s not like I’ve actually had a conversation with the Bat-Man. I haven’t even met him!”

Bruce removed the glasses he was wearing and folded them. He calmly placed them on the table and leaned in.

“I think that we can dispense with the act, Mr Kent. Your disguise may fool a lot of people, but it doesn’t fool me.”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Mild-mannered, bumbling. It must be exhausting keeping that up. Even before I knew, I never believed for a second that there wasn’t more to you than the polite farm boy from Kansas. You interest me, Mr Kent.”

The last words made Clark suddenly realize how close Bruce’s face was to his, as both men leaned in close over the table. Both were speaking in low voices, barely above a whisper. There was a gravely quality in Wayne’s that reminded Clark of somebody else. He couldn’t quite remember who. Wayne’s piercing blue eyes were telling Clark that they knew everything. There was no point in lying to them. Clark chose a different tactic.

“Well, what about you, Mr Wayne? You let the world believe you to be a buffoon. An idle playboy with nothing useful to contribute. I could tell right away that you weren't anything like the papers and magazines would have me believe.”

“You’re right, Kent. I’m not stupid, and you’re not pathetic. So I suppose the question is, what do we have to hide?”

Clark stared straight ahead, transfixed by Wayne’s expression. _He_ _knew_. How did he know? What else did he know?

Clark cleared his throat. “I don’t think that we should discuss this in a public place.”

“I agree. Which is why I chose a restaurant close to your hotel.”

Clark knew there was nothing improper about what Wayne had just suggested, but for some reason he felt his face flush.

“Right. We’ll go to my hotel room.”

Wayne smirked. “Lead the way.”

***

Clark stood against the wall, then sat in the desk chair, then stood again before sitting on the bed. He moved to stand again when Bruce, standing calmly in front of the window the whole time, spoke.

“Relax. As I said, you can drop the act. I know you aren’t a nervous mess.”

_This isn’t an act!_ Clark thought with some embarrassment. There was something about having Bruce Wayne here in his hotel room. Obviously there was the distressing fact that Wayne clearly knew his secret identity, but that wasn’t what was making Clark unable to compose himself.

“I don’t know what you think you know about me, Mr Wayne, but I-”

“There’s one thing I can’t quite figure out, Kent. Why would Superman want to hold a job as a reporter in Metropolis.”

“I-”

“Why would Superman waste time interviewing Bruce Wayne for the society page?”

“I’m not-”

Wayne crossed the floor to where Clark was sitting. Clark was unable to move, just sat and stared as Wayne reached out and pulled the glasses off his face.

Bruce smiled, “That’s better.”

Clark surrendered. “You won’t tell anyone.”

“No. As I said, we both have secrets.”

Clark wanted to stand and move away from Bruce. He was too close. This was…abnormal. He tried to ignore how the proximity made him feel. He wouldn’t acknowledge how aroused the perfection of Bruce Wayne made him.

The billionaire, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. He carefully placed Clark’s glasses on the nightstand. It occurred to Clark that there was nothing particularly…sexual (it was difficult to conjure that word) happening here. He needed to relax. He needed to view the situation as it actually was, and focus on what was important: Wayne knew that he was Superman. He admitted to Wayne that this was true. This was significant. Certainly more significant than the fact that Bruce had just removed his suit jacket. Or the way that his gold watch peeked out from under a white sleeve cuff. Why was that wristwatch so fascinating? Why was that wrist so fascinating? Or the hand that was attached to it?

Clark was not a particularly sexual being. He had never been with anyone in that sense, female or otherwise. He had never felt the need that he knew other men felt, and he chalked it up to being from another planet. Maybe Kryptonians don’t…do that. Maybe they only copulate as a means of procreating, and gain no pleasure from it. Maybe Clark would go his whole life without sex and be perfectly content. He had always believed and accepted this. Until now.

Somewhere in the past few minutes Clark had gone from believing that he would never need to be touched, to believing that if he weren’t touched right this very minute he would explode. He was humiliated to admit it even to himself, but he desperately wanted a man. This man. Right now.

And somehow, Clark knew that Bruce knew. Just like he knew everything else about him. And the fact that Bruce wasn’t running for the door was encouraging.

“What would I find if I looked under your shirt, I wonder?” Bruce asked in a low voice, “The famous red ‘S’ and blue tights?”

Clark swallowed, “N-no. I’m not wearing it right now.”

“No?” Bruce asked, keeping his eyes on Clark’s, as if making sure they were on the same page, “So there would be nothing under your clothes? If I looked?”

“No,” Clark closed his eyes as Bruce’s fingers began to gently comb through his hair. They loosened the cowlick that always fell in the centre of Superman’s forehead. Clark’s hands gripped the bed hard. Part of his brain was aware that this was really happening, but mostly he was afraid that opening his eyes, or moving at all, would make it all go away.

Clark felt warm breath on his ear as Bruce leaned in and said, at almost a whisper, “Forgive me for being sceptical, but I refuse to believe anything until I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Clark was unable to conceal an audible gasp as Bruce ran his fingers up the front of Clark’s shirt. They stopped at the top button and quickly undid it. The motion was repeated with each one. Clark knew what was going to happen next. It was as inevitable as it was terrifying. Bruce’s mouth landed on his with a heat that matched his eyes. Clark somehow, miraculously, knew what to do in response. His shirt was pulled off and fell to the floor. Finally, Clark found the confidence to place his hands on the other man’s body. He knew this wouldn’t be impressive. He was no master of seduction, and besides, he barely had control of his functions at this point. He all but tore Wayne’s shirt off, earning him an encouraging gasp. Clark fell back on the bed, Wayne following him. Hands moved to his belt, unfastening it and freeing the bottom of his undershirt. It joined the others on the floor. Bruce gazed down at Clark’s exposed chest and stomach.

“Just like I pictured,” Bruce murmured, “Perfect.”

Clark was becoming more and more comfortable with the situation. He no longer cared what was proper or normal. He was no longer concerned with the fact that he had no idea what he was doing or how to do it. He had a vague idea of what would happen if this continued, and he wanted that. He wanted it more than he ever wanted anything. He would worry about the details later. Right now he needed to see Bruce naked and laid out before him.

Bruce’s undershirt hit the floor. Clark was halfway to his goal. The erection which had caused him discomfort since they entered the hotel room was now unbearable. Kisses became more frantic as more clothing was removed. Finally the last piece was removed and Clark felt his back arch at the mere sensation of finally having his cock free of his restrictive pants. He was not nearly as uncomfortable as he expected to be as he lay there, completely naked, as Bruce inspected him.

“Who else has seen this?” Bruce asked, his tone implying that there was going to be trouble if Clark gave the wrong answer.

“No one.”

“God, that’s what I thought.”

“Wh-what about you?” Clark asked, mainly because he wasn’t sure of what else to say. “Have you ever-”

Clark was cut off by a mere look from Bruce. One that told him that even suggesting that this man was a virgin was ridiculous beyond words.

“But don’t worry,” Bruce said, “I’m already sure that you will be my favourite.”

Teeth and tongue attacked his nipples and Clark was gone. Bruce could do whatever he wanted to him now. And he did.

When Bruce entered him it was all Clark could do to keep from climaxing right then and there. Nothing had ever felt like that. How could he have ever thought this was wrong? This could never be wrong. Nothing that felt like this could be anything but right. His mind tried to process what was happening with little success. He was with Bruce Wayne. He was…having intercourse. Fornicating. No, to hell with it, they were _fucking_. Bruce Wayne was fucking him here in this hotel room in Gotham because he knew who Clark was. He couldn’t be fooled, even when the rest of the world could be. There was something significant about that. Bruce claimed to have secrets of his own, and maybe what they were doing right now was what he was talking about. Or maybe it wasn’t. With each hard thrust into him, Clark resolved to learn everything about this man.

He heard Bruce cry out above him before he felt the heat fill him inside. Bruce’s face twisted in agony and pleasure, and suddenly Clark realized that he had also reached the end. He felt like he was being ripped apart as he came. Nothing would ever prepare him for that sensation. As Superman, he barely felt any physical sensations at all. But this one tore through him like fire, causing him to yell out. He wanted this feeling all the time.

They lay beside each other in silence in the dimly lit room for several minutes. Finally composed, Clark spoke first.

“Who are you?”

“You honestly don’t know?”

“I want to know.”

For a moment there was no response, and then another voice spoke.

“Contrary to what you may have believed, I can assure you after last night that vampires are real.”

Clark sat up and turned to face Bruce, astonished.

“You?”

“Yes, and I have to say, the fact that I can fool both a reporter and Superman gives me great confidence in my alter-ego.”

“You? You’re-”

Bruce sat up. “The Bat-Man, as they call him. Yes.”

“But why?”

“That is something that I can’t expect anyone to fully understand. I’m not even sure I do, but there is a reason that I am letting you know.”

“You mean, besides the fact that we just-”

“Yes. I don’t divulge this information to everyone I sleep with, Kent. I was hoping we could form a professional partnership. The sex was just a bonus.”

Clark considered all of this. “Would there be more…sex?”

“I certainly hope so. But that’s between Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. I was thinking more strategically on the crime-fighting side of things.”

“Right.”

“I know what you’re thinking, how could I, a man with no superpowers, contribute?”

“I wasn’t…Hold on. You don’t have any superpowers?”

“No. I thought you knew that.”

“Well, I guess I just assumed. I mean, you allegedly fought a dozen men last night single-handedly, and rescued a woman from a burning building.”

Bruce smiled, “I’m glad you noticed. As you can see, I can be of use to you, even without powers.”

“Superman and the Bat-Man.”

“We could just make it Bat-Man.”

Bruce stood and began to gather his clothing. “Sorry to be abrupt, but as you can see it’s dark outside and there is work to be done.”

“Of course, I-”

“Go back to Metropolis, Clark. I’ll contact you if I need you. And I hope you will do the same.”

Clark nodded. “I will, Bat-Man.”

Bruce dressed quickly. As he moved toward the door he turned. “Do me a favour, Kent.”

“What’s that?”

“When you write those articles, be sure to make Bruce Wayne seem like a dullard and make Bat-Man sound terrifying.”

Clark smirked. “Will do.”

“Great. I’ll see you around, Kent.”

“You too, Bruce.”

Bruce left with a wink, leaving Clark alone to contemplate this bizarre new arrangement. After several moments he went to his typewriter and began to write of the fascinating travel destinations of renowned playboy, Bruce Wayne.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
